


Drunken Sailor

by lordofcrowns



Category: Final Fantasy XIV, Original Work
Genre: Captain Cyril Stacy - Freeform, Drinking, Drinking Songs, Evil, Gen, Male Miqo'te (Final Fantasy XIV), Miqo'te (Final Fantasy XIV), Non-Sexual Slavery, Original Character(s), Pirates, Sky Pirates, Slavery, Stalking, Taverns, Villains
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-08
Updated: 2020-07-08
Packaged: 2021-03-04 21:22:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,842
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25153135
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lordofcrowns/pseuds/lordofcrowns
Summary: This far north, the leaves on the trees grew a medley of color ranging from rich indigo to bright cobalt blue, now dusted with a sugary coating of peach and amber sunset lighting. Speckled between the deep blues were flames of orange, brightly burning street lamps that marked the way up the cobblestone steps from the docks into town. Thick clouds hung over the shore, tinged the same colors as the sunset, save one heavy grey cloud that threatened rain. On a cliff overlooking the scene was the local inn and tavern. Oil lanterns and tattered banners swayed in the wind, beckoning travelers and locals alike inside, out of the biting cold. On an icy northern night like this, few could resist the comforts of a warm hearth, strong drinks, and good company.
Kudos: 12





	Drunken Sailor

**Author's Note:**

> [MUSIC](https://youtu.be/psT_XFDTjHs) || [AMBIENCE](https://rpg.ambient-mixer.com/northern-tavern---inn)

Despite the encroaching night, the docks were still bustling. Burly workers milled about, sailors and merchants alike going about the last of their business for the day, the latter hawking wares and seeking to crack open the coin purse of any passerby they could convince.

This far north, the leaves on the trees grew a medley of color ranging from rich indigo to bright cobalt blue, now dusted with a sugary coating of peach and amber sunset lighting. Speckled between the deep blues were flames of orange, brightly burning street lamps that marked the way up the cobblestone steps from the docks into town. Thick clouds hung over the shore, tinged the same colors as the sunset, save one heavy grey cloud that threatened rain. A watercolor painting, all reflected in the mirror of the sea.

On a cliff overlooking the scene was the local inn and tavern. Oil lanterns and tattered banners swayed in the wind, beckoning travelers and locals alike inside, out of the biting cold. On an icy northern night like this, few could resist the comforts of a warm hearth, strong drinks, and good company.

Unsurprisingly. The tavern itself was seething with activity. After all, any who were willing to keep the peace were welcome here. Many even hung their weapon belts at the door - trusting the town guard to see to their safety. Red cherry wood was stained purple, drenched in the shade of the cool evening. The building was old - a big, open space with two floors and several hearths, built of stout timber and set upon a sturdy stone foundation. Rugs covered the stone floor, thick curtains kept the draft out, and soft furs were draped over furniture.

In the center of the main hall, down from the ceiling grew one of the local trees, a great spectacle of vibrant blue foliage and inky black branches - limbs that stretched down and had been tied and trained to hold the many, many lanterns flickering brilliant gold and crimson through old, smoke-stained glass, that together made a chandelier. A blend of different tongues, all overlapping and fighting to be heard over one another, caused a din that made it difficult for the innkeeper and her customer to hear themselves.

“Iyrngybet… what you’ve given me here is not even half of what you owe.”

“Aye… that is the right of it, lass.”

The burly Roegadyn man awkwardly rubbed the back of his head and avoided the eyes of the innkeeper. The woman was smaller than him practically by half, but her no-nonsense air had him shuffling his feet and pouting like a schoolboy being disciplined. She sighed at him with rather evident disappointment, but did not seem angry.

“Well… I have horses that need grooming and stalls that need cleaning.”

The Hyur woman hardly had the time to finish her sentence before the brawny man was wrapping his arms around her and picking her up in a tight bearhug. Luckily for her, the rafters in the ceiling were high, so she did not risk hitting her head despite the way he twirled her around.

“Oh, yer a gem, Maude! A right gem!”

“Yes, yes…” Maude did her best to sound exasperated, but the laughter in her voice was palpable. “Put me down, please.”

“O’course.”

He very gingerly set her down, and the freckled woman brushed her skirt free of the many wrinkles the unexpected hug had put in it.

“I will expect you bright and early tomorrow morning, sixth bell. Do I make myself clear?”

“Perfectly!”

Maude, the innkeeper and tavern’s owner, felt a good deal older than her twenty and six summers. A hyur woman with a sharp wit but a kind heart, she opened the tavern and inn to any who would keep the peace, and who agreed to comply with the local guard who watched her door.

Her dress was a layering of mismatched petticoats, cream linen, and an old, many times mended hempen bodice, laced haphazardly with fraying jute cord. Her auburn brown hair was tied back in a long, loosely plaited braid that reached her hip in total length, wrapped about her temple and tying underneath her long hair was the one fine thing she owned - a vivid blue silk sash.

As the tavern’s sole proprietor and the only staff she could truly afford, Maude had her hands full filling and refilling drinks, fetching dried meat and loaves of bread, and assigning rooms to the sailors and travelers as they came and went.

She didn’t mind, though - she liked to be kept busy, and in her handful of years living here, she had grown to love the town, the tavern, and its people. The majority of her customers were regulars she knew by name, the other sailors she vaguely recognized when they passed through during certain months.

There was, however, one figure present this evening she did not recognize at all. He was mild-mannered, unobtrusive - he spoke to the guard before entering and even agreed to leave his sword belt at the door. And much to her delight he paid his coin without hesitation, excuse, or flimsy attempts at bartering. He was garbed in a dusty matte black coat, layered over a simple leather doublet and creamy, low-cut white shirt. Brass buttons had been worn down over time, seams stretched and quilted lapels scuffed from wear and tear. He had introduced himself as a sailor, and he had the look of one. He had thick brown hair and one piercing, gold eye, the left - the right was covered with a leather patch, a relatively common feature amongst sailors. His skin was tan, the corners of his eyes wrinkled, but only in a way that really showed when he smiled.

There was little unnatural or unusual about the Miqo’te, save perhaps a certain lazy grace with which he moved and carried himself. As the evening carried on, she found herself paying him more attention. There was a brooding expression on his face, an almost alarming focus that furrowed his brow and tightened his jaw, that with a suave charm was instantaneously covered once he felt eyes on him. It took him no time at all to warm up to the locals and join in with the drinking.

He held aloft a full tankard, by nature of his height towering over most of his newfound company. He had a gruff, guttural, but still somehow charming singing voice.

_“Hey ho, to the bottle I go!  
To heal my heart and drown my woe.  
Rain may fall, and wind may blow,  
But there’ll still be many malms to go!  
Sweet is the sound of the pouring rain,  
And the river that runs from hill to plain.  
Better than rain or a rippling brook,  
Is a mug of beer that brings me luck!”_

This unfamiliar sailor had enough of a boom behind his voice that it filled the room right up to the brim, but even it threatened to be drowned out by the laughter and chorus of voices that joined in alongside it to sing the familiar diddy. A beat rose up, a mix of boots stomping against the wood and fists slamming into tabletops. Maude was sure she had never seen the tavern so full, or so lively.

Iyrngybet was perhaps the loudest and rowdiest of all those drinking, though despite this he always handled himself well. He was the friendly, rambunctious sort - even without the drink. And much to Maude’s relief, he and this new stranger seemed to get on rather well. They were clapping each other on the back and toasting tankards together between verses. The last note of the stranger’s song faded out to thunderous applause and hollers. The Roegadyn wasted no time then in striking up a new rhythm and bellowing out the words to a new ditty. Another popular song, an age old warning about pirates and thieves, the ones that come for naughty children in the night.

“My mother said he listens  
My father’s seen him walk  
Stay in bed, asleep at home  
Be spared the slaver’s lock.

With whip he’ll bind your ankles  
Blind your eyes with sash and cord  
And if you cry out in the night  
Alone he’ll take you aboard.

The slaver snake, he waits  
With coiled whip and black clad hand  
Beware the viper's bite, my son  
Fear Captain Stacy's brand!”

Iyrngybet drained the last of his tankard amidst many cheers, and resounding boos for the pirate in question that the song had referenced. 

“Haven’t heard that one since I was a wee child, eh?” A patron said to her as she refilled their proffered glass.

“Indeed,” She replied. “I fear much to his dismay, dear Iyrngybet ages himself by nature of his song choice.”

Though her feet ached and she longed nothing more than to sit down and enjoy a moment’s quiet, Maude couldn’t help but smile and readied herself to pour another round of drinks. At the very least, this stranger and his charm with the crowd made for good beverage sales.

Still, his charm left her with an odd feeling in the pit of her stomach. She brushed it off as the excitement of having a new face in town, for after all - it was a rather rare occasion.

Down on the docks, five score sailors were disembarking an unmarked sloop, leaving behind the now pitch black sea and heading up the hill towards the wintery blue forest, and the tavern itself. They moved swiftly and silently, light footsteps barely seeming to touch the ground they tread upon. They wore matching colors of black and gold, and not a word was spoken between them. Hand signals were made, and packs began to peel away, moving through the town and into the woods. All the while, that grey cloud still lingering in the midnight sky grew darker and darker. A storm was imminent.

“Hail to you, good ser. If you seek accommodations for the evening, I have beds for rent.”

The Miqo’te leaned gently from one side to another, fighting to keep himself even slightly upright, before simply nodding. Maude bowed her head and made every effort not to smile at his drunkenness, lest the stranger take offense.

“A room is five-hundred gil. Have you the coin to pay?”

Before she’d even fully finished her question, the Miqo’te had set down a small leather satchel of gil on the bar. Maude pulled the coin purse towards her, counting out what was owed to her swiftly and returning the excess, as well as the pouch, to their owner. She tucked the gil away in the safe kept beneath the counter before straightening up and tossing her scarf back over her shoulder.

“Right this way, then…” Maude used a small key she kept on her person to open a wide, flat drawer beneath her bar, within which were nestled many similarly shaped keys. She selected one and extended her arm.

“I will show you to your room.”

The man simply nodded, pushing himself back a pace from the bar before falling in behind her. He wobbled precariously now and then, after a time deigning to reach his right hand out to trace fingertips along the wall in an effort to steady himself. They ascended a flight of steps, walking at a leisurely pace around the upper level of the atrium of the tavern, where the Miqo’te had to transition to leaning against the wooden banister to keep himself upright. Maude walked slowly, leaving her guest ample room to catch up without rushing him, and meanwhile glanced down at the still drinking and dining patrons below. Laughter still bellowed upwards towards the rafters now and again, but a few - like the Miqo’te she now escorted - were content to begin finding their ways to their beds.

Along the balcony of the atrium they walked, to the far side of the brilliant chandelier and blossoming tree branches, and down a hallway that provided some small shelter from the loud volume of the guests, was the available room she’d chosen for him. She unlocked it and pushed the door open, stepping back and meaning to hand off his key to him. But when she turned around, she could only stifle a small chuckle. He had stopped perhaps five fulms behind her, and was now leaning with his elbow against the wall, head nestled into the crook of his arm. She cleared her throat, swallowing her laughter before addressing him.

“Ser...?” 

Maude’s voice trailed off as she noticed he seemed to be very quietly humming yet another drunken ditty. His mumblings could hardly be considered lyrics, but she recognized the tune as one of the ones sung earlier in the night.

_“My mother said he listens  
My father’s seen him walk  
Stay in bed, asleep at home  
Be spared the slaver’s lock…”_

She smiled to herself, thumbing over the key in her hands and simply hoping the man would find himself just enough to make it to the room he’d paid for. His voice replying to her snapped her out of thoughts.

_“How old were you the first time you heard that song?”_

“Hm? Why, I suppose I was just a girl when I-”

Maude glanced back up towards him, eyeing him curiously. For perhaps the first time the entire night, she stopped and truly looked at this sailor. She noted the cleverness present in his face. The odd, unsettlingly crooked smile hovering at the corners of his mouth, the dangerous alertness visible in the one, glittering eye she was permitted to see. The way his body wasn’t shaking or swaying at all anymore.

He had been deceiving her all night. This man was not drunk at all.

Now that she was up close to him, Maude couldn’t help but squint at the way she could swear his entire presence seemed to flicker. His thick brown hair seemed to catch the lantern light in bright flashes of turquoise blue, the dusty brass buttons of his coat giving way to brilliant gold.

The longer she studied him, the colder Maude felt. But he just smiled at her, slowly straightening up to his full height. Having regained control of her tongue enough to stop staring dumbfounded, she took a respectful step back, once more offering his room’s key to him. It took every ounce of strength and self control not to stutter or give away her discomfort. She didn’t know who she was dealing with, or why he would lie, but it made fear grip her cold. She knew to be careful.

“You make strange conversation, ser. I think bed rest would do you well. If you need anything else, you need only ask.”

 _“Or perhaps you are like me.”_ Though she attempted to change the subject, the Miqo'te overrode her. _“Placing little stock in such fanciful tales.”_

He spoke slowly and softly, but this did little to dissipate the Hyur’s nerves. She realized immediately that this man had her backed into a corner, and out of the line of sight of the other patrons for the moment.

_“Pray, rest easy.”_

His voice was like a purr. A quiet rumble deep in his chest. It was as if he’d read her mind, or perhaps he had seen her eyes flick momentarily over towards the hallway behind him.

_“I do hope you will forgive my belated introduction.”_

Something translucent like scales seemed to ripple and fall from his body as the glamour dissipated. Brown hair instead shone a seafoam teal, worn long save for the short buzz on either side of his temples. The dusty, worn-in coat was now shed for a clean, elegant looking black and gold uniform. There was not a single seam or wrinkle out of place. Polished gold at his shoulders emblazoned with a calligraphic “S” denoted his rank. His hands were covered with a pair of oily black gloves, and adorned with gold rings. One such hand went behind his back, the other in front of him, as he gifted the innkeeper a formal bow, still smiling.

_“Captain Cyril Stacy, a pleasure to meet you.”_

The Hyur caught her breath a moment, eyes tracing over the man now before her, unsure if they could even be called the same person. As was quite common among some Miqo’te, his breeding was written practically in ink along every sharp line of his face, in his imposing silhouette and broad shoulders. And, despite his casual, perhaps almost jovial demeanor and the superficial camaraderie among the tavern folk earlier in the night, his voice had the immistakible, careless authority of someone wholly accustomed to being obeyed.  


She knew the name, she knew the song, she knew the stories. She knew exactly who this man claimed to be.

“Are you mad, or brilliant?” She whispered. “Drawing attention to yourself all evening like that, my good Captain…” She spat his title at him with contempt crisp against her teeth, a mixture of mockery and disbelief. “Among my patrons there is no shortage of bounty hunters. Adventurers who would be eager to claim the prize you _proclaim_ yourself to be.”

Cyril merely chuckled quietly and shook his head.

_“You think me more reckless than I am, love. Your patrons will hardly remember the evening.”_

Confusion was plastered all over the innkeeper’s face until she took a few moments to listen carefully. It was quiet. The laughter, the chatter, it had all died down.

“What have you done?”

Worry boiled over into panic and Maude picked up her skirts, shuffling sheepishly a few steps aside from Cyril. When he made no move to stop her or block her path, she darted back towards the atrium. She grabbed the banister and leaned over worriedly, taking in the disturbingly quiet scene before her.

A lucky few had made it to the comfortable, fur-draped chairs that surrounded the crackling hearth. The others dozed at their tables, slumped over with heads resting atop folded arms or even one another. A few of the most unfortunate simply collapsed, sprawled out over the bearskin rugs or slumped down in a heap against the wall. It was as if they had been put under a spell, none of them so much as twitched or shuffled in their sleep.

Heavy, slow footsteps behind her alerted her of Cyril’s approach, followed closely by his still quiet voice. As he stalked up behind her, he pulled a kerchief from his breast pocket and wiped the sides of his neck clean of the rum he’d splashed on it to make him smell intoxicated.

_“Rest assured, they are not harmed.”_

These were her patrons, her people - when they came to her establishment they were in her charge. That this man had so easily weaseled his way in and drugged every drinker was a thought both terrifying and humiliating. Anger boiled in her blood, and without thinking she whirled around and pulled her hand back to strike the man in the face. In the middle of her motion she seemed to realize what she was doing was unwise, and in that split second of hesitation, Cyril reached up and grabbed her wrist before she had the chance to slap him. He still spoke softly, even as he threatened nonchalantly to crush her arm in his grip.

_“You ought to be thanking me. I may very well have rescued your floundering business from the softness of your heart.”_

Maude grimaced and attempted to tug her arm away, to no avail.

“I beg your pardon?”

In one fluid movement, Cyril spun her around - holding her arm behind her as he marched her back over towards the railing. He reached his arm about her and rested his free hand on the banister while he directed her attention to the dozing patrons.

_“Look at the sorry lot of them. Drunkards and beggars. Doubtless, some wretched sod lies in a heap behind the building, threatening to drown in his own vomit. Those that can stand up leave the next morning without paying what they owe, to return again the following eve. Such people are worthless if left to their own devices.”_

Maude’s bright eyes darted from one sleeping form to another - Iyrngybet, Damien, Eliza, Ihri'a, Bardi, Oshonne… She knew them by name! They were her townspeople, her friends, her family. And to hells with it if they couldn’t always pay in coin! They paid her back in other ways, helping her tend to the establishment. To her, that was more than enough.

“Rapacious man! Does your black heart beat only for coin? A man drowned in the drink is more honorable than you’ll ever be.”

_“Oh, my darling. You wound me with such harsh words. I am not an evil man. You should know...”_

As he spoke, his hand left the banister, gloved fingers sliding up to caress and curl about Maude’s bare neck.

_“I do this for you.”_

Maude snarled and wrestled herself free of the Miqo’te, scrambling a few paces away from him and whipping around to face him. Again, he made no move to hold her in his grasp, nor to stop her from wriggling free. And even as she glared at him with fire in her eyes, she was well aware her efforts to free herself of his hold were only successful because he allowed them to be.

“Wh-what in the world? How dare you insinuate I would do business with your kind!”

 _“Abandoned by an unfaithful husband.”_ The pirate began. _“A beloved sister, dead so young.”_ He took a step towards her as he spoke. _“Aging and ailing parents, to whom you send every small amount of coin you can spare…”_

Maude’s heart was racing. How much did this man know? So beside herself with shock was she, the innkeeper didn’t realize she’d been shuffling away from him until her back hit the wall. He brushed her hair back behind her shoulders, tracing his hand along her cheek to her chin and tilting her face up to look at him.

 _“And a kind heart. One far too soft for business. But you need not worry any longer. I will look after you.”_

He smiled softly at Maude, keeping his one eye on her as he brought his other hand to his ear just long enough to tap the receiver of his linkpearl.

 _“Move in.”_

There was a bright blue flash of light and almost instantaneously a resounding boom as what was surely lightning split the sky above the tavern. The door to the tavern flung back on its hinges, the guard that should have been watching it absent from his post, as uniformed sailors filed into the building. Maude yelped and shrunk back in surprise. Through the glass windows she could vaguely make out the silhouette of a massive airship, shrouded in a thick, unnatural fog that it seemed to use as a cover, teetering precariously close to the cliff.

And at the sixth bell of the next morning, Iyrngybet - like so many others - was nowhere to be found.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! 🌹  
>  **Captain Cyril Stacy© 2016-2020**  
>  **  
> [Tumblr](https://lordofcrowns.tumblr.com) || [Twitter](https://twitter.com/cyrilstacy) || [Instagram](https://instagram.com/lord_of_crowns) || [Twitch](https://www.twitch.tv/lord_of_crowns)  
> **


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